


mon éternel amour

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Ballum Secret Santa (EastEnders), Daddy Issues, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, ski holiday, they're soooo in love it's GROSS, they're sooooo in love it's GROSS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: It’s not easy, kissing, when it’s so cold you can’t feel your own lips, and the sudden snow-flurry makes it so Callum has to fight to keep Ben close enough, both hands gripping either side of his face. They make it work, though, Callum wouldn’t give up these lips for the world.When they break away, ragged breathing and eyes wide, Callum keeps, Ben's mouth parted with his thumb as they stare at each other. Everything is so still and suffocating and so much, but Callum doesn’t want to let go. Not today, not tomorrow, and definitely not in a weeks time. Even in the dark, he can see the flush of Ben’s cheeks, can feel it, how much warmth is radiating from him. He can’t look away. If he looks away, he might wake up."Promise we’ll always have this,” Callum dares to say. Under the blanket of the stars, he feels protected.“Have what?”“This,” he whispers. “Us.”au. callum takes his first ski trip to the beautiful village of morzine, ben is the filthy local he meets on the plane. they have fourteen days to fall in love, but really, it only takes fourteen seconds.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 88
Collections: Ballum Secret Santa 2020





	mon éternel amour

**Author's Note:**

> hello! here's my ballum secret santa gift for the absolutely wonderful lauren (@benmitchellx) - this idea kind of ran away with me (as you can tell) and i can only apologies for how long i turned out to be!!!! but nevertheless, i hope you all enjoy & especially you lauren. you're such a gorgeous, kind soul and i love seeing you on my dash. you spread so much love and light throughout our lil fandom, and i hope this fic does the same for you. 
> 
> a little background: morzine is a gorgeous ski resort/village in the french alps, this time seven years ago i was packaging my bags read to go and i hop the most amazing time ever. ben is 22 / callum is 25. there's a lot of canon implied leading up to their meeting, but then it takes many twists and turns. 
> 
> warnings for:  
> \- talk of grief and mentions of death (denny & paul)  
> \- some explicit content  
> \- and a whole heap of tooth-rooting fluff 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL

Callum’s muscles twitch slightly as he takes his seat on the plane, but the man to his left doesn’t look up or make any move to communicate. Silently, Callum pulls his iPad out of his bag and connects his headphones, he’s more than content in getting his head down for a few hours. But obviously, things don’t ever go so smoothly for Callum, and almost instantly, his laptop begins, loudly, _very loudly_ , blasting out the last song he was listening to. He smashes the volume button wildly, and sees everyone in view incline their heads towards him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, certain his cheeks are scarlet.

“At least it weren’t porn,” the man next to him whispers back.

Callum’s hands freeze over the screen, sure he’s misheard.

 _“What?”_ He whisper-shouts. 

The man looks up at him, finally, a wry smile on his lips, and says nothing.

And, with that one, sharp look, Callum feels everything around him go a little fuzzy. He isn’t sure why. It could be that the man’s eyes are piercing, the same icy blue of a chilled night sky lit by the stars. It could be that his hair is a ragged mess, falling into his gaze in soft, messy tuffs of chestnut. It could be his tan skin, the dusting of freckles on his nose, the sharp, angled cuts of his face. Callum doesn’t know. He just knows that the second they look at each other, all the air around them turns into an electric field.

And just like that, they take off from Heathrow with a dark honey sky falling behind them.

Callum almost forgets he hates flying. 

“Can I get your name?” he asks, a sudden burst of confidence hitting. 

“You can get a whole lot more than just my name.” 

“Right, _well,”_ Callum stutters, flushed and warm. “I’m Callum.” 

“You’re a heartbreaker, Callum,” Ben pouts, a hand over his heart. Callum pushes his arm away, eyes amused but his mouth tight-lipped.

“I’m messing with ya, I’m Ben," the man, _Ben_ says. _BenBenBen._ “It’s nice to meet you, Callum. Sorry if I’ve been a bit… Cold, _grumpy_ , this morning. It’s been one hell of a week.”

“No worries, sorry if I’m a bit too much,” Callum says, can hear his brother nagging him in his ear; _you gotta stop apologising for being yourself bruv,_ and curses himself. “I ain’t flown in a while, I need this holiday like you wouldn’t know.” 

“Let me guess, you’re one of these tourists who fancies themselves a skiing expert, snowboarder even, come to show us all how it’s done. You’ll eat snails and frogs legs, drink Cognac, speak some awful French and then post it all over Instagram before going back to your dull office job. You look the type.``

 _“Um,_ ” Callum can feel his neck going hot. “Two weeks actually.”

Ben makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, a tiny _huh,_ and runs his eyes over Callum slowly. When his gaze flicks back to Callum’s, there’s a tiny smirk on the corner of his thin pink lips. 

“You ain’t ever been skiing before, have you?” is all Ben says, finally sliding his eyes away. Callum attempts a smile and tries not to choke on his gum.

“Nope, not ever,” Callum admits. “To be honest with you, I’m kind of terrified of the whole prospect.” Ben’s grin widens, evidently revealing in Callum’s uncertainty.

“So why have you chosen to spend your New Year at a ski resort?” 

“Well, it weren’t exactly my choice,” some of the army lads wanted to get away for the New Year, I didn’t have a choice in the matter of location. I just say yes to everything.” 

“That’s good to know,” Ben responds without taking a beat, smirk never once wavering. “Army? You in the military?” 

“Not anymore,” is the only answer Callum can give. If he says anymore he’s worried that he won’t be able to hide the sadness etched there. _Not that Ben would care,_ he supposes. 

They’re both just regard each other with a quiet fascination, then. It leads Callum's eyes wondering, moving as though he were navigating his way through his favourite book, looking for the gentle words and hidden stories. Ben is a few inches shorter than him, somehow sharp but soft all at once, the precise, jutted points of him leading to natural slopes. 

Ben clears his throat and turns away. Callum isn’t sure if he imagines the dusting of pink on his cheeks or not.

“I’ll suppose you ain’t ever been to Morzine before then?” Ben asks, once they’re well up in the clouds. He’s got this tiny can of beer in his hands, and he takes sip after sip as he looks at Callum with inquisitive eyes. Callum blinks at him. He’s very quickly becoming less and less intimidated by him.

“Uh, no, I ain’t,” he says softly. “I’m not too good with the cold.”

“You’re going to love it. The skiing, _maybe._ But the village, definitely. It’s so gorgeous, the most breathtaking scenery. It’s a dream to live there, really.”

“Oh, you like over there?” Callum asks, shock evident in his voice. “Sorry, I just assumed you were on holiday too, I mean you look like a Londoner.” 

“No matter how hard you try, you can’t lose your roots, hey?” Ben says, downbeat for a second, a _blink-and-you’ll-miss-it_ moment. “I’m a born Londoner, but my heart ain’t there anymore. Hasn’t been for the best part of five years now, moving to France was the best decision I ever made.” 

Behind them, footsteps sound down the middle of the aisle.

“Oh, good. You ain’t dead yet,” Callum friend, Leon, notes with a raise of his eyebrow.

_“Evidently.”_

“I’ve thought about it a few times,” Ben quips from Callum’s side. “But I ain’t sure I could move his long and gangly body myself.” 

“You two seem friendly,” Leon notes. 

“Mortal enemies, we are.”

“Well, he hates flying, and the smell of coffee,” Leon smirks, revelling in spilling Callum’s best-kept secrets. “So if you want rid of him, you know what to do.”

“Cover him in coffee before throwing him out the window?”

“Exactly that!” Leon walks off with a shake off the head and a fond eye roll. 

“Well, he seemed, uh—nice?”

“Oh, Leon? He’s a big softie really,” Callum says. “Our friendship thrives on hatred and dry sarcasm.” 

“Ah,” Ben nods. “The best friendship always do. It must’ve been nice to have friends like that out on duty, though. I bet it got pretty lonely.”

“It was nice,” Callum says. “Still got lonely though. You didn’t get much time to really talk.”

“You didn’t mind that?” Ben asks carefully. Callum shrugs.

“I like the quiet,” he says, sighing. “Sometimes.” 

Feeling as though they’re delving too deep into a place Callum doesn’t want to touch, he notices Ben has finished his beer and clinks their empty bottles together. 

“Another?” he asks. 

“Go on, then,” Ben sighs easily. 

As they’re second round of _way-too-small-and-overpriced_ beer cans arrive, Callum plugs his headphone back into his phone, offers one over to Ben, who takes it hesitantly. Eventually, they fall into some form of comfortable silence, broken apart by the voice of Foy Vance. Ben’s fingers tap a syncopated and distracting rhythm on his lap. Callum’s helpless in finding it, _him,_ endearing. 

The song cuts off. He glances to the side and finds Ben returning his gaze, head lolled against the back of his seat. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Callum says. 

“What is?”

“This.” He waggles a finger between them. “Us, sitting here an hour into the flight and you ain’t tried to kill me yet.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Ben says.

Callum pouts. “Ouch. How hopeful I was…”

“It takes more than a beer and some cheesy songs to win me over,” Ben says. “I’m not that easy.” 

“I figured that out pretty quickly, yeah.” Callum tilts his head. “Who says I’m trying to win you over anyway?”

Ben shoots him a look.

“Okay.” Callum throws up a palm in submission. “Maybe I am. Just a _little tiny bit.”_

Callum lets out a soft patter of laughter, and when Ben joins him the air around them eases. The knot in Callum’s chest starts to loosen. 

An hour and a half into their flight, when Callum comes out of a hazy nap he was unaware of falling into in the first place, Sam Fender is playing softly in his ears, mixed with the rumble of the plane’s engine.

A fuzzy, muffled voice is sounding over the cabin, accompanied by the shrill buzz of three beeping tones. “Bonjour, passagers. Nous arriverons en arrivant à l'aéroport de Genève dans dix minutes. Ten minutes till landing.”

“Look,” Ben says beside him, gesturing out the window with a tip of his head.

Callum turns.

They’ve started to lower out of the clouds, travelling across Lake Geneva. Surrounding, it’s all sharp white mountain tips and pearly ice, sparkling under the bright sun. It leaves Callum a little breathless, the sure pureness of it all, untouched.

“Wow,” he murmurs.

“Told you it’s beautiful,” Ben says. “Wait till you’re on the ground. It’s even better then.”

Soon, the ice meets the land and folds in on itself, eclipsing the rows of house and cabin, dusty and snow-topped, littered around the land like a handful of breadcrumbs thrown without much thought, placed in a seemingly random array.

Callum’s stomach swoops in motion with their plane, the ground coming closer and closer as they turn and drop towards the tiny airstrip. 

“Hey, Callum?”

Callum looks over his shoulder. Ben has his lips bitten into his mouth curiously, eyes trained on his.

“If you, uh,” he taps his nails against the bannister, looking shy all of a sudden. “If you need someone to show you around, let me know. I’m an excellent tour guide..”

Callum’s lips curl into a smile. “Really?”

“No,” Ben laughs. “But I can offer you free pints of demi peaché and great company.”

“Oh, and whose company might that be, then?” Callum questions.

Ben grins. “Mine, _obviously_.”

“Sounds tempting,” Callum muses.

“Excellent,” Ben chirps. “There’s a post-Christmas event tonight, great bar, gorgeous staff. I clock off at eight tonight. _La Folie Douce_. If you fancy it, I’ll be there.”

They’re stuck in that moment again, just looking at each other with nothing else to say, because embedded in the silence is something weighty and palpable. Something exciting, Callum thinks. 

“Thank you,” he says, sincere.

“No worries,” Ben continues up the stairs, but he pauses after a moment and turns back to him. “But if you tell _anyone_ that I fell asleep on your shoulder, I’ll throw you off the highest ski lift.”

“Noted,” Callum says, faux-serious. He pushes off his seat and brings both his own, and Ben’s overhead bags down, heart fluttering in his chest as he makes to exit the plane.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**fourteen days left:**

La Folie Douce is the name of the bar Ben works in, Callum remembered well. Out the very front, tiny streams of smoke waft up from an area enclosed by walls of glass, lower than ground height, tinted orange and red from the lights hanging from the sturdy wooden beams overhead. Callum spots Ben standing there, leaning over the glass to speak to a man on the other side. He’s on his tippy-toes, head cupped in his palm, both elbows resting over the barrier. Wrapped up in a coat, beanie, and gloves, he looks incredibly small and warm.

The man he’s speaking too is shaking up something in a small metal cup, ice rattling against the sides. When he catches Callum’s eyes, he looks over with a tiny smirk, and wink. This must alert Ben, because he lowers himself back onto the balls of his feet and slowly, and takes the now poured drink from the man over the glass. Callum approaches cautiously, inexplicably nervous.

“Ben,” he calls softly.

Ben turns, one arm still resting on the glass. He looks cosy and soft. “Hey! You came!”

“Yeah, course I did,” Callum nudges his shoulder when he’s close enough. It feels too odd to go in for a hug. “Need to check out this company you were offering, don’t I?” 

He feels a little choked up too quickly, and he casts his gaze over the tiny area, the hazy way the light cuts through it all and turns it into an amber cloud. Just as he turns to ask Ben if they can go inside, he feels his hand on his arm, pulling him in. 

“Let’s go in, yeah?” Ben says, fingers insistent and firm. Callum looks at him curiously, but Ben is already marching ahead, shucking off his jacket before he’s even in the door. “I’ve got us a table reserved at the back.” 

Immediately, Callum is enveloped in pleasant warmth and mellow 80’s tunes, the clinking of glasses and the whoosh of pouring beer. It’s all dark brick and deep wood, a mix of honey and oak and glazed over, tainted orange. At the end of the room, there’s a tiny raised stage, empty for now. Along the wall to its left, a row of booths with old wine coloured seats and sturdy tables. On the other, a bar with rickety wooden stools and a shiny top. Callum isn’t sure if it’s varnish or sticky alcohol.

Ben leads them to a booth close to the stage, and Callum sits with his back facing it so he can see the length of the room. Ben piles his jacket and gloves beside him and settles in. It’s then that Callum notices how tiny the booths are, and that when he shifts, he can feel Ben’s knee brushing his own. Their legs are practically interlocked.

Ben makes no attempt to readjust himself, and neither does Callum, both content enough to keep their legs all awkwardly twisted and pleasantly close. Callum tries not to move his legs at all, keeps them stock still so Ben doesn’t notice, he doesn’t want to lose that warmth. It seems his tactics fail him, however, when Ben lets out a soft breath of laughter, private and almost shy, and starts to shift his legs as he slides across the seat.

“Sorry,” Callum says, trying to pull his legs back as far as he can.

“You’ve got proper noodle legs,” Ben says. “All gangly and long.”

“And you’ve got elf legs,” Callum says. “Short.”

The change in Ben’s expression is immediate. “I’m five foot ten, I’ll have you know,” he grouches.

“Hm,” Callum’s lips curl slowly. _“Sure you are.”_

“Oi,” Ben says lowly, leaning forward menacingly. “Do you want to drink these cocktails, or wear them?” 

“Ain’t fussy, really,” Callum shrugs. He leans away and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m sure I could find someone else to buy me some more.”

That seems to tick Ben off further. “No way. You’re _my_ date tonight.” 

_Date. Date. Date. Date._

“So this is a date, then?” he asks, realising he’s taken too long to answer and the air between them has gone thick.

Luckily (for Callum’s bright-red face) their quiet chatter is interrupted. Ben’s mouth tightens a little, and he chews on his straw absently.

“Hey, Kian,” he greets the man. 

“Hi,” _Kian_ says eagerly, and he’s completely ignoring Callum’s presence, it seems. “Are you still up for tonight, or…?”

He finally trails his eyes over to Callum slowly, mouth turning down. Ben lets out a sigh and sips his drink, then wipes his thumb over his mouth.

“No thanks,” he says plainly. Kian’s eyes flicker, what Callum thinks might be hurt, or maybe even jealousy.

“I just thought that, y’know,” he makes an odd jerking motion with his head, “last time, uh. We—”

“Sorry,” Ben interrupts, stirring the tiny bulbs of ice in his drink distractedly. “It ain’t happening.”

“Right,” Kian takes an awkward step back. “I’ll just. Okay. Bye, Ben.”

“Yeah, bye,” Ben flicks his eye down to the table and waits for Kian to leave before he lifts them again, gauging Callum’s reaction.

“Old friend?” he asks simply. Ben lets out another sigh and leans his elbow on the table, body shifting forward.

“You let a guy fuck you a couple of times and suddenly it’s love,” he rolls his eyes lightly and picks up his glass with both hands, chasing the straw with bared teeth as it slides. 

“He doesn’t do that all the time, does he?” Callum asks carefully. “Like, he doesn’t give you any trouble or anything?”

“Nah,” Ben says. “He just won’t seem to go away. I think the last time we hooked up was about six months ago. Drives me up the wall.”

“Plenty more fish in the sea, ain’t there?” Callum huffs a laugh. 

“Well, you could say that,” Ben starts, “but right here, in a remote little village in the middle of the French Alps, it’s a bit hard to find fresh new faces.”

“And when you do?” Callum finishes the last of his drink.

Ben bites the end of his straw into the corner of his mouth, sips it long and slow and watches Callum carefully. “You keep ‘em close.”

That’s. _Well_. True. Callum has nothing left to drink, so he just rests his glass against his lips to trap the words threatening to tumble out. He can feel the tips of his ears burning, can feel hot coals ghosting over his stomach. Ben curls the straw into his mouth with his tongue, eyes impish and coy and _God_. He’s flirting with him. _Blatantly_.

“I’d take it as a compliment,” Callum says, once he’s caught his breath back. “You must be _that_ irresistible.”

“Well,” Ben smirks. “You’d know.” 

Callum swallows. “Maybe I would.”

It comes out thick and croaky, and Ben laughs, releasing his straw so he can rest his palm against his cheek. He knocks their knees together, teeth folding over his bottom lip in amusement. Then they’re just watching each other, cards on the table, both fully aware of where their bodies are pressed, fully aware of what’s been bubbling between them; this undeniable chemistry that feels like it’s come boiling over fast, hot, waiting to be released so it can singe everything in his path.

“Here you are lads!” Another interruption, but his time is the bartender from earlier, slamming more offensively–bright cocktails down on the table in front of them, sloshing some over the sides so that it trickles down in a gooey haze.

Ben waves him away and starts on his drink, taking two long gulps. Callum follows to keep his eyes away from the bob in his throat. It’s strong, stronger than he expected, something local he supposes, that’s sharp like liquid gold but fades into honey on the back of his tongue with tingly fizzles.

“Good?” Ben asks. He wipes at his mouth.

“Yeah, really good, actually,” Callum says. “I’m usually more of a fruity, sweet guy.”

“Knew it,” Ben smiles. “Let me guess, mojitos and raspberry vodka’s, that type of thing?”

“Sorta,” Callum licks at the foam stinging to his top lip. “Porn Star Martini is my weakness, I think. Always with a shot of prosecco.”

“Of course it is,” Ben winks, teasing. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Callum laughs back. 

“I’m more of an Espresso Martini kind of guy,” Ben takes another long sip of his beer. “It doesn’t matter what hour it is, coffee is always on the table in some form.“

“Never had one,” Callum admits. Ben brightens immediately.

“We should try each other’s, then,” he suggests with a wry smile. “Just one.”

_“Deal.”_

“But first,” Ben says, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ve ordered us some local food. I want to put my first impression of you to the test.”

Their frog’s legs and snails and mussels come out steaming and wafting headily, rich. The sauce they’re in is bubbling still. Callum has never been a massive fan of _exotic_ foods, but he’s salivating already. 

“Filthy local, you are,” he ruffles Ben’s hair across the table.

Ben grins up at him, and cracks open the first shell to pull the muscle out with a little fork.

“The best way to eat ‘em,” he pops it into his mouth, then closes his eyes and smiles around his mouthful. “In the summer, when the tide is low, you can walk along the coast and pick them right off yourself.”

“Not too sure how I feel about that,” Callum wrinkles his nose and pulls the bowl of frogs legs closer to himself.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ben echoes, all slow, deep drawl and mirth.

Callum glares and starts eating.

He spends the remainder of the night feeling full and warm, a little fuzzy around the edges from the last waves of travel-exhaustion and the constant buzz in the air around them. Ben has reclined against the side of the booth, glass in hand. Their legs are tilted together this way, tucked under and over one another warmly. Callum’s head feels a little heavy, but he blames it on the mix of coffee-liqueur and passionfruit.

“I should get you home, huh?” Ben says, lip quirking. _Take me_ , Callum thinks, quietens his brain before those words can slip out.

“Okay,” he says.

When they manoeuvre their legs to slide out of the booth, the apples of their cheeks are both flushed, and Callum tries to stop himself from resting his palm in the dip of Ben’s spine on their way out.

-

In the end, home turns out to be Ben’s chalet. _Of course._

It's nestled right up among the tree line, overshadowed by drooping softwood and cast in orange half-light. 

“Come on,” he says, leading Callum up the lit path. He dumps his boots in the porch, half tripping over them as he tries to unlock the door. Callum places his down gently among the cushion of needles and follows.

There’s a creaking then, the clunk of a doorknob too old, and a wafting of dust and something sweet. It’s so, so hushed inside. Callum only gets a brief glance at the lifeless kitchen before Ben pulls him down the corridor, mouth set into a fine line.

He doesn’t have the time to take much in as he passes by the various rooms, but one thing he does notice, is that there are still packed boxes littered around the place. Callum steps over them awkwardly, kicking them with his feet. 

“Sorry,” Ben says absently as he flicks on a low light. “It’s kind of a mess.”

“Don’t be daft,” Callum says, navigating towards the bedroom, lousy limbs banging into furniture as he goes. He can hear Ben laughing beside him.“It’s yours. And it’s lovely.” 

As they reach the bedroom, Callum notices radio is still going, just the way Ben must’ve left it. He cranks it up a little because it’s ABBA, _of course it is._

“Turn that thing down, will you?” Ben’s voice echoes, but it’s put on, all grouchy, and for some reason, it’s one of the funniest things Callum’s ever heard. 

_“But it’s ABBA!”_ Callum whines.

“It’s late, is what it is,” Ben says. 

In the contrasting heat of the bedroom, he’s just a shadow. Callum watches as he slips off his jacket. 

“Jesus, come here,” Callum says. Then, teasingly, “I can sing for you, if you’d rather.”

“There’s nothing I want less.”

_“Ouch.”_

Ben gives in and hobbles over eventually, stopping just inches in front of Callum, who’s begun to whilst the tune of Dancing Queen, both of them attempting to muffle their laughter. 

“Great,” Ben says flatly. “What _have_ I gotten myself into.”

Another pitter-patter of laughter, softer now, just a breath as they blink at each other in the dark. 

Neither of them shifts away. 

Their smiles are starting to fade. Ben is watching him back, and Callum’s fingers curl up under the intensity of it all. So do Ben’s own. 

Callum should pull back. It’s time to sleep, to rest weary eyes and get ready for the first day on the slopes tomorrow. 

But Ben is right there. It feels as though they’re trapped in this sudden bubble of warmth, and Callum can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but look into Ben’s eyes and tremble.

 _“Cal,”_ Ben breathes, barely a sound. Callum swallows, electricity shocking through him, zapping his skin. There’s a fear there too, gripping fear that holds him by the back of the neck.

_This is only temporary._

But then Ben lifts a hand, his smooth, delicate hand, and runs a long finger down Callum’s cheek, coming to rest just by the hinge of his jaw. Callum stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as Ben touches him so gentle.

Ben rests their foreheads together gently, his thumb coming to rub at his jaw, his hand cupping the back of his neck and head. Callum dips his mouth closer, _brave_ , their noses bumping. He can feel Ben’s warmth breath on his lips, and when he shifts, they brush together, just barely. 

It’s so, so, unbelievably delicate.

_Until it’s not._

Callum’s chest shudders with a breath. Ben’s lips part.

_They collide._

Suddenly it’s all moving, grappling hands, long, drawn-out moans and that first painful knock of teeth. Between them, clothes are lost and shirts fall off backs, tangle at their feet. Through the dark they trip and stumble and careen into the bed, Callum’s back hitting the edge and then slipping up as Ben grabs, lifts, pushes. 

In their rough and rattling haste, something tumbles from off the bed and hits the floor. A book, a mug, maybe, Callum doesn’t know. Nor does he care. He’s distracted completely by Ben’s frantic fingers curling up his arms, then spreading over the now exposed, flushed skin of his back.

Soon, though, he wants more, and gets his hands between them, fumbling to undo Ben’s belt. In turn, Ben’s fervent touch travels to match Callum’s own, over his hips and firm on Callum’s thighs, thumbs digging into the muscle there, the pressure so close but so far from where Callum wants him that it’s absolutely maddening. The mind-bending spectrum of _too-much-not-enough_ has him gasping into Ben’s mouth, pushing roughly at his jeans to get to his skin, uncaring of his own eagerness. Not a moment later, Ben’s jeans are tossed off and spawn across the floor.

To have the heat of bare skin this close is intoxicating, to smell cologne, to haul Ben closer by his thighs and keen at the rough tug of fingers in his hair, pulling his head back so their mouths melt together in a dizzy rush, messy and beautiful in the only way it can be. Callum’s losing it, he’s sure, losing sight of which way is up and which way is down and where to put his hands next. Each part of Ben he touches is a shame to leave, but to leave any part untouched seems even more of a loss. 

_“Shit,”_ Ben breathes, ducking down to bury his face into Callum’s neck, kissing the skin there over and over, breathing him in _. “Shit, Cal.”_

“Ben,” he shudders when Ben kisses wetly at the hinge of his jaw. He threads his hands into Ben’s slight curls, so soft and silky beneath his fingers, and pulls him back up to his mouth. He’s never wanted anybody, anything more in his life than this, than the wet press of their mouths, the heat of Ben’s s hands sliding down his back. It feels right.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ben gasps out between kisses, pressing in hard. “God, you’re so—”

“Ben,” Callum says again, because he can’t say anything else.

“You have no idea,” another searing kiss, a hot press of their bodies, “how gorgeous you are.”

“Kiss me,” Callum breathes. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

After, they fall sideways, coming to settle next to each other as they kiss gently. Ben threads their fingers together, more gentle than anything he’s felt before, and Callum’s heart flutters in his chest, eyes threatening to grow wet.

“Ben,” he breathes, pressing their foreheads together.

Ben snuffles slightly, pecking Callum’s lips one more time before he tugs him in close, wrapping his arms around him to cuddle him. His chest is warm and cosy and Callum curls around his body willingly. It’s so lovely, so delicate and careful that Callum can feel his heart shaking in his chest.

“Goodnight,” Ben whispers. Callum falls asleep before he can properly respond, Ben’s breathing and the soft pitter-patter of snow swirling around him.

He closes his eyes, clenches them shut and holds on as morning draws near.

_The threat of sunlight is so close he can taste it._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**twelve days left:**

On his third morning, Ben decides he’s going to teach Callum how to ski. _Bad decision._

Luckily, it’s early morning and the mountain is still quiet. Ben and Callum have claimed a slip of snow just by a ski lift, where the snow falls smooth and fresh. Ben promised he’d teach Callum how to surf, but so far Callum, unsurprisingly, hasn’t produced the greatest results. He’s pretty sure he’s about to break a few bones. 

Callum chokes on another face full of snow, gasping as his fingers freeze up, grappling at the snow to try and stop himself tumbling down any further. When he finally resurfaces, the tips of his hair wet and frozen and poking his eyes, Ben is laughing madly beside him, a hand over his stomach as he extends an arm towards Callum’s limp body.

“Oh my God,” he guffaws, hoisting Callum with one arm. “That was hilarious.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad _you_ found it funny,” Callum grumbles, tripping over his skis once again. Ben just laughs more, wiping at his eyes. “I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking,” 

“I’ve genuinely never seen anyone fail so badly at skiing” he pats Callum’s shoulder, in some form of condolence.

“I told you, I’ve got noodle limbs,” Callum whines. “I’m not cut out for this kind of physical activity.”

“I thought you were in the army!” Ben is still laughing. Callum wants to punch him. “Ain’t your lot supposed to be all fit and _physical._ ”

“Yes, I _was_ in the army,” Callum emphasises. His body jumps forward when a small child whoosh passed them, cold sprays of snow flicking up his back. “There's a reason I ain’t anymore, y’know.”

“Let’s give it one more try, c’mon,” Ben grabs his hands and tries to tug him back towards the ski lift. 

“No way,” Callum tugs back. “No way. We’ve been trying this for an hour now. I’m pretty sure all the water in my body is from the snow I've unwittingly consumed at this point.” 

_“Poor babe_ ,” Ben coos. Callum scrunches his nose up at him and tackles him to the ground, snow encapsulating their bodies. 

“I’m going to kill you, Highway.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“C’mon, let’s head in,” Ben grabs his hand and kicks through the snow. “Don’t want your delicate, ageing, city skin getting all wrinkly.” 

“Excuse me,” Callum scoots after him, grabbing at his hips, his legs, trying to tug him down, but Ben kicks away, half laughing, half screaming when Callum gets a hold of his leg.

“Callum!” he cries out. “Let me go, you dickhead!” 

“Take it back!” Callum shouts, laughing. “Say my skin isn’t all delicate and _ageing_!”

“Never,” Ben grins impishly, teeth bared as he tries to squirm out of Callum’s grasp. “Old man.” 

In the end, a gust of wind and flurry of snow breaks Callum’s hold, the two of them tumbling towards the ground. When Callum emergers, eyes and nose stinging cold from the onslaught of snow, Ben is already back on his feet, laughing madly. 

“ _Idiot_ ,” Callum cries, shaking his head with a fondness he’s sure he shouldn’t be feeling right now. “Absolute idiot.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**ten days left:**

They learn the deeper parts of each other in bits and pieces, lying in the dark, facing the middle of the bed with their hands locked between them. 

Ben tells him Callum whispers about growing up in London, about his abundance of siblings and his mother who faked her own death, his hyperactive tendencies that got him in trouble more often than not both at school and at home. He tells him about his obsession with west-end musicals and tap dancing and everything his dad hated, tells him that while the kids in his class wanted a mountain bike or the latest FIFA game, he wanted a Girls Aloud record. 

In return, Callum uncurls the delicate petals around himself slowly, hides the words in Ben’s skin. He doesn’t like to talk much about his past, only because he didn’t enjoy much of it, and what he did enjoy was tainted by those last few years, the loneliness and hatred that he slowly began to accept. His little town didn’t spare him, really, and in the end, his dedication to joining the army didn’t pay off. Not for himself, nor his Dad. It took him a while to get back to his feet after the injury — both literally and metaphorically. 

He tells Ben things he’s never spoken aloud, things that have been laid to rest in the back of his mind for so long and shared only between himself and a dusty notepad at three in the morning. And Ben does the same, quiet murmurs against Callum’s neck that are strained with the disuse of thought, both of them digging through their memories like tugging well-rested roots out of the ground.

But after, Callum always feels better, feels safe, and he tries to make sure that Ben feels the same. They hold each other as they drift off, bodies curled and snug with the blankets tucked around their necks, breaths warm and soft.

“Do you see them much?” Callum asks one night between sporadic kisses. They’re lying together on the sofa, Ben curled around him. The fire is bright and dancing, licks of heat and orange sparkles that hiss and whistle in warmth. “Your family in London, I mean.”

He tries to tell himself that he isn’t asking for his own benefit, but there’s a constant ticking in his skull, one that’s slowly counting down the days until he has to fly home. _He tries not to think about it._

“Not as much as I used to,” Ben says. He drops a kiss to Callum’s lips. “It’s expensive, to fly back all the time.”

“What about in the summer?” Callum asks, hands smoothing over Ben’s back. “When it’s dead over here.”

Ben is quiet for a long time, just tracing shapes on Callum’s chest. “It gets harder, I think. To go back. Every time I go back there, to Walford, there’s something more to fall back in love with. My niece Peggy, my nephew, Bobby. My Mum’s home-cooked brownies, or the new gay bar she’s opened. But I know, in my mind, I know I can’t stay there. And each trip pulls me closer and closer. But the summers here are beautiful, I’d hate to miss it.” 

_I’m going to miss it_. Callum’s heart clenches in his chest. _I won’t be there to see you love it._

“Will you come see me?” It’s out before he can stop it, too fast and slurred and he winces at himself immediately, wishing he could take it all back when he feels Ben tense, his head lifting to look at Ben in quiet alarm. “If—I mean, if you come back to see your family, will you visit me?”

“I…” Ben blinks down at him, almost dazedly. “I will, yeah. I will.”

Callum swallows and hides his face, tips their bodies so that Ben’s back is pressed up against the couch and Callum can tuck himself away, so he can wrap their limbs together and just rest his lips over Ben’s pulse.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to—I don’t want to ruin…whatever this is. You ain’t got no obligation to see me or whatever—”

“You ain’t,” Ben slides his fingers into Callum’s hair and pulls his face out of hiding, kisses him slow and wet, breathing heavily through their noses. The fire is hot against Callum’s back, and he presses closer. Ben leans away, but their lips brush together when he speaks. “I want to see you. Of course I do.”

Callum kisses him again so he doesn’t say something stupid.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**ten days to go:**

It’s a freezing night out, but in the comfort of Ben’s hot tub, they’re seeped in warmth. Shadows start to pass over them, a curtain of navy slowly coming down and revealing the promise of a starry night. They’re relatively quiet, just whispering softly back and forth about nothing, fingers still linked and warm. A truly perfect night. 

“Hey,” Callum says suddenly, tapping Ben’s forearm with his finger softly under the water. Ben glances towards him. “What’s your favourite colour?” 

“What?” Ben laughs, brows coming together. 

“Your favourite colour,” Callumays again. “I feel like–I feel like I know you, but at the same time, I don’t.”

“And knowing my favourite colour is going to unlock all the mysteries of the universe, is it?” Ben teases.

“Just answer the question and stop being awkward,” Callum laughs. 

“Fine, fine,” Ben sighs, biting his lip and looking back up to the sky. “Blue, I guess. Yeah, blue.” 

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?” Callum pushes. Ben glares. “Which shade of blue?”

“I don’t know,” Ben shifts his fingers through his hair. “The sky, in the morning. When the sun’s fully up, but it’s still fresh out, crisp. That, I guess. What’s yours?”

“Yellow, I think,” Callum says. “Sunsets and sunrises, all those yellows, burnt and bright. Reminds me of, like, new beginnings.” 

“Well, check us out! We’re like poets, or something, ain’t we,” Ben sighs dreamily, gazing upward. Callum giggles.

“Sure are,” he says. “What do you do in your spare time?” 

“You already know that,” Ben says. “Ski, work, ski some more, work some more, hang out at work, visit Pam and Les, ski again, fuck you.”

“Ben! That wasn’t very poetic of you,” Callum smiles dopily. “What about when you aren’t doing that? Like, what about when it isn’t really busy, in summer, or you’re just having time for yourself?” 

Ben watches him carefully, eyes knowing, and Callum leans closer, brushes their noses together.

“I dance, sometimes,” Ben says softly. “Or at least, I attempt to. I go to one of the socials out here once a month, but as you can imagine, it ain’t exactly Strictly Come Dancing.” 

“Really?” Callum says softly, inclining his head. _Tell me more, tell me more, tell me more._

“Yeah,” Ben twists his fingers together. “I don’t tell a lot of people that.” 

“Oh,” Callum blinks. “Why not?” 

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know. I danced as a kid, a lot. My dad hated it, and he always made sure I knew that. So it’s a sort of, like, private thing I do for myself now.” 

“I had no idea,” Callum murmurs. His heart knocks against his ribcage softly, and he tries not to reach out, to link their hands together in an attempt to ground himself. “You should show me sometime, if you want. You could teach me a thing or two.”

“Not with those gangly limbs I couldn’t,” Ben teases. “What about you? What’s your secret little hobbie, hm?”

“I like to write,” Callum says. “Started writing a journal during my army days, and it just kinda started from there for me.” 

“That’s sweet,” Ben grins, and Callum rolls his eyes. “You should write a story about me, you could call it, Ben Mitchell; my French Dream.”

**eight days left:**

Callum cooked for his chalet tonight, feeling slightly guilty for ditching them night after night to spend time with Ben. _But only slightly guilty_. He’s just finished piling all their pots and pans into the dishwasher, when his phone starts to ring with an unknown number.

“Hello?” he answers, half tripping over a chair leg as he ducks into his bedroom, out the way of prying ears. 

“Hey,” Callum pauses. “Please tell me this is Callum?”

“Ben? How’d you get my number?” he smiles before he can stop himself, brow furrowed. 

“Well, it all begun on a very cocktails-induced night—”

“Say no more,” Callum laughs softly. Ben must have put his number in when he’d been asleep. He barely even remembers, and he flushes a little for some reason, knowing Ben has had his number the whole time. “Y’alright?”

“I was thinking, like, if you and the lads wanted, you could come join us at the bar? We’ve got some New Year’s event on tonight and the place is banging. Thought you might fancy it, if you ain’t already got plans?” 

“That sounds like a pretty good offer.” 

“I thought so,” Ben says quietly.

“Yeah,” Callum confirms, smiling to himself. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“No worries,” Ben says. “See you in a bit.”

“Bye.”

The dial tone clicks.

Callum inhales sharply, tapping his phone against his chin, then weaves his way into the main area. The chalet is stuffy and hot, steam still lingering from dinner. Chris and Cameron are still sitting at the table, squished together and watching something on their phones. Leon is wiping the surfaces, and he glances knowingly at Callum when he enters, his head poking over the back of the table as he leans through the door.

“Lads,” he announces. “We’re off out!” 

“But I’m making brownies,” Leon says, giving him a look. He responds with the same expression.

“Where?” Cameron raises his eyebrow.

“A bar,” Callum says slowly. “Just one of the local guys I’ve been hanging out with, he works there and invited us over for the night.” 

“ _One of_ ,” Leon waves him off. “You mean Ben.” 

“Oh Highway,” Chris says. “You’re so hopeless” 

_“Hey!”_ Callum protests. “Oh come on, it’ll be a laugh.” 

Another ninety seconds of persuasion and they’re all in their separate rooms veering ready for the night ahead

-

The pub is already packed when they push through the glass doors, smoke wafting up from the heat of it all, and the patio out the front is lit by tiny lanterns. Inside, the sound is a mix of pinging games machines, the solid clack of pool balls being broken up, glasses clinking and beer taps frothing. There’s a band nestled out in the beer garden tonight, and inside, the music is loud and booming. 

Callum spots Ben after a few minutes of searching, he’s playing darts across the room, a pint of something golden and frothy in one hand, darts in the other as he chats animatedly with the woman beside him, hip leant against the edge of the table. 

“Let’s get drinks first,” Chris nudges them towards the bar in the dining room, voice muffled under the noise. 

Callum runs his fingers over a beer mat while they wait, it’s busy, the bartenders slamming beers and bottles onto the counters at an alarming rate. 

“You alright, mate?” one of the bartenders finally approaches them, wiping his wet hands on his shirt. It takes a few blinks, but Callum recognises him soon enough; it’s Kian, from the first night. _Great_. 

“Yeah, just a Corona for me, please,” Callum says.”

“Make that four, actually,” Cameron adds. 

“Sure thing lads,” Kian says, but he seems almost hesitant when he starts to drift towards the fridge, gaze still strained on Callum, eyes squinted slightly. When he places their drinks on the bar, he won’t take Callum’s money, still just staring at him.

“Uh,” Callum says. “Cheers, mate.” 

“You’re that Callum bloke, aren’t you?” the bartender says then. Callum blinks. 

“Yeah,” Callum huffs a surprised laugh. “I mean, my name is Callum, but—” 

“Saw you ‘ere with Ben that first night,” he says, leaning forward and clapping him on the shoulder. “Well in mate.”

“Oh,” Callum drawls slowly. “I, uh—” 

“Listen,” Kian says, slowly, expression rolling through judgement and jealousy and apprehension like a wave, brows pulling together then relaxing as he finally meets his eyes again. “This thing, with Ben. Is it serious?” 

Callum blinks at him, a little taken aback. “What?”

“Well, is it?” 

“I... I don’t know,” Callum says, doesn’t thinks of the _I love you’s_ flooding his heart. “Why do you care?” 

He didn’t mean for it to come out so gritted, so defensive. “I care about what happens to Ben, that’s all.”

“He’s actually here on a date with Ben, so, y’know,” Leon interrupts. “I think he cares about him a whole lot more than you do.” 

“ _Leon_!” Callum exclaims as she pulls them away from the bar, Kian looking both challenged and pretty much, gobsmacked. 

“What?” Leon exasperates, whilst Chris adds, “he’s obviously after a bit of your man.” 

“He ain’t _my man_ ,” Callum says, eyebrows raised in an effort to make a stand. “Me and Ben are just, I don’t know? Having some fun?”

“Whatever you say, baby gay.” 

Ben spots them then, _thank God,_ his eye contact is intense, enough to break a path through the crowds. Instantly Callum’s pulling them through the crowds towards Ben. Usually, he’d be afraid of coming off as desperate, clingy, pathetic. But at this moment, Callum doesn’t care, he just wants to see him. 

“Hey,” he comes up behind Ben and bumps their hips together. 

“Alright, babe?” Ben looks at him over his shoulder, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You made it.”

“Shut up,” Callum murmurs, pressed up against his ear. “Said I would.”

“Hm, I like a man who sticks to his promises,” Ben replies. He leans back into Callum’s body just for a moment, before he ducks forward to glance at the boys. “These must be your mates.” 

“Last time I checked,” Leon sticks out his hand. “Nice to finally meet the dude who's turned Callum into a pile of mush.”

Callum hisses with embarrassment. 

“You ain’t too bad, are you?” Chris says as he pulls Ben into a half-hug, as brass and bold as ever. “When he first came out, I weren’t really sure what Callum’s type in lads was gonna be, didn’t think I wanted to know, actually. But you’ll definitely do.” 

“Oh my God,” Callum dispairs. “Chris, you can’t just say things like that!” 

“Nah, he’s alright,” Ben brushes her off, eyes flickering to meet Callum’s with mischief. “So I am your type then? Or would you rather be spending the night with Kian, over by the bar?”

“Oh, God,” Callum says, cheeks heating at the attention. “There’s ain’t no need to worry about that, there’s only one heart he’s after and it ain’t mine.”

“Are you kidding?” Ben interrupts. “I’m sorry. I hope he weren't too.... ”

“Desperate?” Cameron finishes for him. 

“Yeah, _that.”_

“You’re not… jealous, are you, Cal?” Ben teases, and it only makes Callum smile, because _no_. For once in his life, he ain’t. He has no reason to be. 

“Nope,” Callum dismisses, “cool as a cucumber, me.” 

“You look really great, by the way,” Ben whispers, private, his whole face scrunched up with fondness. Callum nudges their shoulders together, and laughs as he places a soft kiss there.

“So do you,” Callum says. “Really, _really_ great.”

All the sudden Callum’s he’s being challenged to a game of pool. He’s never, ever been good at pool, and he’s a little embarrassed at how brutally he gets beaten by Ben. Ben is smooth in his hits, lines up his shots with one eye closed and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks gorgeous, though, hair sticking up in every which way, his shirt loose and startlingly white against his sun-kissed skin. 

It’s all Callum can do to sneak the two of them outside. It’s all soft hands and gentle kisses and a want that burns so deep, it terrifies Callum. 

It’s jarring when the side door slides open, the muffled clatter and music from inside spilling out into the quiet, blasting through the brick, between where their bodies are hovering close together. Ben pulls away slowly, unbothered, smiling all teeth and laughter when Chris, the best of Callum’s ex-army pals, sticks his head outside, glaring.

“If you two are _quite_ done, Leon isgetting his arse handed to him inside,” he says. He’s ruffled, hair sweaty and askew. “I need someone to save me from the second-hand embarrassment of his… _Karaoke!”_

“Sorry, mate,” Callum steps away slowly, stumbling over his own feet, flushed and maybe a little drunk, now.

“I ain’t,” Ben says with a shrug, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out slowly.

“Hm, I figured,” Chris rolls his eyes. “Get back inside before I tell everyone about your _most_ _embarrassing_ moment to date.” 

“I genuinely hate you,” Callum sighs, shoulders slumping. With that, Chris swings the door shut again, and all is quiet. 

Ben turns to him, slides up close to pat his cheek softly, “let’s be getting you back inside, wouldn’t want you feeling all embarrassed now would I, _sweetcheeks_?”

They get progressively drunker throughout the night, all of them, and eventually, their little group drifts outside into the beer garden. All the plastic chairs are taken, so they huddle themselves into the corner and sit along the wooden bench that surrounds the entire area, bopping their heads along to the music. 

Ben is warm against Callum’s side, and as the lads all fall into conversation, he noses at Ben’s messy hair. There are large, snow-dusted trees in the garden, they dip forward and create this alcove of safety, pulling shadows from the darkening sky. 

Ben smiles up at him, lashes clumped together and eyes wild. He rubs his thumb over Callum’s thigh slowly, and he doesn’t miss the way Ben’s eyes flicker down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes, tapping his bottle against his lips.

“You’re not very subtle, are you?” Callum says, but he starts to smile, leaning closer.

“I ain’t trying to be,” Ben shrugs. “You know what we should do?” 

“What?” Callum breathes. When he turns his head to meet Ben’s gaze, their noses slide together.

“Start enjoying ourselves,” Ben grins, sparkly eyes full of mischief, and grabs Callum’s hand, tugging him up and through the crowd, quick as a bullet. Callum almost trips over his own feet a dozen times, bumping shoulders with strangers and definitely spilling a few drinks as he and Ben slip through the exit and out onto the street. 

Morzine is set in a fuzzy haze of gentle snowfall and slick streets. It’s late now, or early morning, whichever way you look at it, and the only light comes from the old lamps that glow in the night like bubbles of warmth, murky yellow and soft against the odd strings of Christmas lights still hung to and fro. 

In the middle of it all, a Christmas tree stands tall, unwilling to be defeated by the January blues, needles dusted with speckles of snow and dotted with the little glint of golden lights. The village hums quietly around it, the early hour bringing the mountains into a delicate slumber. It’s a gorgeous sight, the Alps at their best, seemingly untouched by the usual tourist-filled bustle of the day.

_A gorgeous night, in a gorgeous village, with a gorgeous boy._

_A gorgeous boy Callum just can’t get enough of._

But it’s not easy, kissing, when it’s so cold you can’t feel your own lips, and the sudden snow-flurry makes it so Callum has to fight to keep Ben close enough, both hands gripping either side of face. They make it work, though, Callum wouldn’t give up these lips for the world. 

When they break away, ragged breathing and eyes wide, he keeps Ben’s mouth parted with his thumb as they stare at each other. Everything is still and suffocating and so much, but Callum doesn’t want to let go. Not today, not tomorrow, and definitely not in _a weeks time._ Even in the dark, he can see the flush of Ben’s cheeks, can feel it, how much warmth is radiating from him. He can’t look away. If he looks away, he might wake up. 

“Promise we’ll always have this,” Callum dares to say. Under the blanket of the stars, he feels protected. 

“Have what?” 

“This,” he whispers. “Us.” 

It’s a promise neither of them can make. The night a fluttering heartbeat, and the world whispers a silent, unheard tale of _nothing lasts forever._

“Promise,” Ben says despite it all, linking their pinkies together gently. It feels as though their bones melt as one.

 _You’ve changed my life_ , Callum thinks, eyes hot as Ben kisses him again, both hands cupping roughly at Callum’s jaw. _You’re doing it now. Every time you look at me, you alter a piece of me. And nothing will be the same once I go back home._

**six days left:**

It was almost two in the morning when Ben had slipped inside last night, and Callum, who was still awake, had felt his pause when he saw Callum in his bed, and there was a moment of panic that he’d overstepped, that he shouldn’t be in this boy’s sheets without him. But then Ben had slipped in behind him and curled around his body, nose buried in his hair. 

“Ben,” he snuffles, blinking heavily as he rolls onto his back, creeping sunlight attacking his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“Going for a ski,” Ben whispers. He ducks down to kiss Callum’s forehead.

“‘S early,” Callum says, and he clears his throat, voice all scratchy and worn from sleep. “You had a late night.”

“I know,” Ben sighs. Callum rolls onto his side and presses his face against the warmth of Ben’s hip, arm curling over his stomach.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “Sleep in and cuddle with me.”

“Can’t,” Ben says, trying to pull away. Callum whines and refuses to let go, tugging him until he topples, the two of them collapsing together, Ben awkwardly pressed up against Callum’s front. He sighs. “Cal.” 

“Please,” Callum curls around him, noses at his hair and presses soft, warm kisses over the skin of his neck, fingers drawing light circles. “Never get to just sleep in with you. Think of all the morning blowjobs I could be giving you.”

Ben snorts quietly and sits up again, pushing Callum’s face away with his hand. “You cannot bribe me with blowjobs.”

“Are you sure?” Callum asks lewdly, draping himself over Ben’s lap.

Ben cups his cheeks and lifts him away gently, pushing him onto his back. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Go back to sleep.” 

Callum pouts, goes doe-eyed and blinks as pretty as he can, but Ben stares down at him blankly. “I ain't gonna be getting much sleep without you here.”

“You’re such a sap,” Ben rolls away and gets out of bed, shaking his head as he laughs softly. Callum sits up.

“I’m coming with you,” he says. Ben pauses with his hand on his cupboard door, and he looks at Callum over his shoulder, seeming caught out.

“Why?” he says. 

“Why not? I can’t sit at the bar looking all pretty?” Callum asks, throwing off the sheet and reaching for his clothes. 

“I mean, I guess,” Ben scratches the back of his neck, stretching again. “If you really want to. You’ll be tired later.”

“We’ll just have to go to bed early then,” Callum says, and he kind of regrets saying it because Ben just stares at him for a moment before he turns away and starts to sort through his stuff. With a little sigh, Callum pulls out some fresh clothes. 

It’s sort of mesmerising to watch Ben out on the slopes. Maybe it’s the cautious way he tests out the perfect strip, glancing at Callum over his shoulder with pink cheeks and a knowing smile. Maybe it’s the way Ben beckons him over with the curl of his fingers, orders Callum to come back with _another_ coffee and a kiss. Or maybe it’s the way he glides through the snow so elegantly, as if he was born to do this. 

“You ain’t regretting it yet? I can tell you’re bored,” Ben says as he comes to sit with Callum.

“I couldn’t ever bore of watching you,” he says.

“Creep!” he calls back over his shoulder, laughing madly when Callum gives him the finger. 

It’s a gorgeous morning, but Callum can’t shake the feeling there’s something heavy hanging in the air. 

-

The night creeps in eventually, and with it comes the stars and moon, the sky truly alive now, a calm settling over the village, and Callum’s heart too. They tread light feet across to Ben’s room, hands clasped tight.

They sit side by side on the floor, backs resting against the bed, the radio ebbing music so gentle under their breathing. 

Ben lets his hand scramble under the bed, crawl around until he seemingly reaches what he’s looking for. A box. A small box with pictures spilling out.

Ben slides the box out in front of them, dusts the top off, old marker barely legible on the sides. Ben & Mum. The blinds are slanted, the shining night sky peeking through, igniting all the disturbed dust particles into little stars, dancing through the air, and Callum watches them spin and settle.

He watches on as Ben sifts through the box, pulling out a number of grainy pictures, a childhood half-lived, toothy-grins and flushed cheeks, precious moments captured forever.

He watches the soft, sad smile that pulls at his features. 

“Look at this,” Ben says after a beat, and Callum peers down at the photograph that’s held out to him, a helpless smile curling up his mouth at the image. “That’s me and my Mum, in the hospital.”

“Do you speak often?” 

Ben can’t look him directly in the eye. He glances towards the kitchen. “Here and there.”

“And your mum weren’t around for a while, you said,” Callum continues, piecing the picture together.

“She weren’t, no. Not when I needed her the most.” 

“I get it,” Callum says, and this time, he’s the one to look away, down at his beer bottle, fiddling with the label, lashes cast low. 

“My parents split when I was young, and for a few years, it was just me and my Mum, even though she went through boyfriends and husbands and bad breakups every few years like her heart was a revolving door. When she went away, it was _so_ awful”

“You have siblings?” Callum can’t help but ask. 

“Lots,” Ben says fondly. “I don’t see them much, these days. They’re all kind of split between families.” 

“I’m sorry. You must miss them.”

“I do. All the time,” Ben says, and then after a deep, shaky breath, “especially the youngest, Denny. He died, a few years ago, to the day.”

“Oh Ben,” Callum says. “You should’ve said. I’m so sorry.” 

With careful hands, Ben continues to sift through the pictures. And Callum’s in awe of it, almost, all these little moments and memories captured eternally, the happy, the sad and everything in between, almost a preservation. A time capsule. Callum almost wishes he had his own nondescript box, but he reckons the bad memories would firmly outweigh the good. 

Ben comes across a particular picture then, one faded and torn, a little worn around the edges, a sign of love and devotion, Callum decides. 

“That’s him, my little brother.”

It’s set on a beach, the sun shining as bright as Ben and Denny’s round faces. Denny is a tiny boy, no older than eight, with a button nose and too-large shorts, Ben, still young in his years, has his arm slung around the boy’s shoulder, his smile beaming, glistening in the sunlight, eyes dancing, dimples indefinite. 

“Oh, he looks like such a happy, loving kid,” Callum whispers carefully over Ben’s shoulder, sure to catch Ben’s eye, stomach curling the longer he looks, and then he feels Ben’s fingers at his wrist, his head on Callum’s shoulder as they look down at it. “It’ll bet you miss him every day?”

“I do, I miss him _so_ much,” Ben exhales, all in a broken, trembling rush, and whatever was left of Callum’s shattered heart splits into even smaller pieces, crackles and snaps into atom-sized fragments. Heat prickles in his eyes, and he shakes his head furiously, nose brushing and bumping. 

“I’m sorry, Ben.” 

“Ain’t your fault, is it?” Ben says, shaking his head. One deep breath, two, three, and he’s back in the room. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me more about your family? Is it just you and your brother?”

“Oh.” Callum scratches behind his ear. “Yeah, just us two. At least I think so. I don’t really…know.”

He’d be lying if he said he's never thought about it. As far as he’s aware, his Dad isn’t in contact with Mum at all and hasn’t been since they finalised their divorce fifteen year ago, so there’s no way for him to know. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, wincing slightly. “That was a stupid thing to ask.” 

“I’ve asked me stupider.”

“And that’s not a word.”

Callum rolls his eyes fondly. “Whatever.” 

They watch each other in the dark. Callum doesn’t know what to say. He’s unsure of what to do with this sudden fragility. 

“What about you?” he asks, after too many beats of silence. 

“Me, what?” Ben says, turning back to Callum. The quirk of his mouth is gone, replaced instead with something curious.

“Have you thought about, you know,” Callum shrugs, trying to be delicate, because this somehow feels delicate, feels like something he isn’t sure to ask, not with the way Ben’s looking at him, the bend of his fingers around the photographs, “having kids. A family of your own.”

Ben bites at the side of his cheek, eyes shifting down. With a sigh, he sits back and lets the pile of photographs fall to the floor. “Yeah, yeah I’ve thought about it. Spoken about it too, once.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Hm,” Ben confirms, his eyes smile too. “Me and Paul. It was this crazy dream we had, that one day we’d have our own family, twins; Peggy and Pam, we decided. Realistically, I’m not sure Paul would’ve been the right person for me to start a family with. But when you’re in love for the first time, you want it all.”

“Tell me more about Paul.” 

“What? Really?” Ben asks, surprise evident in his features. It’s almost as if no one asked that before, no one wanted to know. It makes Callum’s heartache. “You’d want to know?” 

“Yeah, ‘course.” 

Ben reopens the box then, after a stuttered, strange pause between them. Callum’s fingers curl in his lap, tucked tight together, this hurt, sad feeling settling in his stomach. It works it’s way up into his chest, becomes a dull ache, and he watches as Ben shifts through a photo album labelled Paul ‘16. He turns a page and rests his hand over a photograph Callum can only assume is the two of them, happy and bright. 

“God, it’s been so long since anyone’s even mentioned Paul’s name around me,” Ben says, voice shaky. “So long.” 

“I’m sorry,” Callum says, sincere. “You ain’t gotta talk about him, you ain’t gotta say anything.” 

“I should tell you,” Ben murmurs into the silence. The sun is going down behind them, and without the lights flicked on everything is cast in an orange blush.

“You don’t have to,” Callum says. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind Ben’s ear and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I’d never force you to tell me anything you don’t want, that’s not who I am.” 

“I know. But I want to,” Ben answers after a beat, looking up at him under his brows. “I want you to know me, properly.”

“I know it’s only been a week, and I probably sound a little crazy saying this, but I feel like I do know you—,” Callum tries, but Ben shakes his head and bites his lip. 

“Not like this,” he whispers. “Not like this.”

“If—if you’re sure,” Callum says. He doesn’t know what Ben is about to say, doesn’t know what’s about to happen between them, change between them, but he knows that after this, this is big. He holds his breath, Ben and starts to talk, soft and deep.

“I grew up in Walford, in the East End, as you know,” he begins, clearing his throat quietly. “It’s this tiny square of land, which somehow fit my whole family into; we owned businesses, my Nan ran the pub, us kids rang rings around the neighbours.” 

“It was a really tight-knit community. But when things turned sour, the gossip spread like wildfire,” Ben huffs out a tiny laugh, misty-eyed. “I had a bit of a reputation, in the end. People used to call me Mini Mitchell, said I was a bit troublesome, a bit too much like my old man.”

“Things started to change when I was…I was, fourteen, I think,” Ben says, and his voice goes slow, his eyes calculating. “When I weren’t spending my every spare minute linking up with girls.”

“At first, I didn’t think anything of it. My Dad just persisted that I was a _late bloomer,_ whatever that shit meant. But the people started to talk, the lads at school, our neighbours, my own family. I weren’t like the rest of them, _apparently_.” 

“My Dad didn’t let me stay out late anymore. And that’s when I first started to put up a bit of a fight. I didn’t _understand_ it. Y’know? I was just being myself. For me, nothing had changed. But every time I wanted to stay out, go to a party or meet my mates down the park, he said no. He had plenty of excuses, that it was dangerous now, or he couldn’t trust me not to get into trouble, that he was worried about me, but I knew why.”

“When I was fifteen, I came out. To my brother Kay, first. And then the rest of the Square,” Ben says quietly, wistfully, and his eyes lower. “My Dad was, well—he was about as Phil Mitchell as he ever is about the sensitive stuff.” 

“God, I was such a mess. I spent years and years hiding who I really was. Even from myself. And it hurt, it hurt so much, but nothing, nothing has ever hurt as much as watching my Dad walk out of a packed pub, disapproving of me and Paul,” he recalls, picking at the skin on his thumb. 

“The majority of my family, of the community, were brilliant. Supportive and accepting in every way people should be. But not my Dad, nothing never changed for him,” Ben huffs a sombre laugh, shaking his head. “He hated Paul. Hated everything he was. Gay. Kind, beautiful and _brilliant_.”

“But that wasn’t enough. Not for my Dad, nor for myself. All my life, I’d craved my Dad’s acceptance. His pride. His love…” Ben trails off and presses his thumbs together. “I was stupid with it, with this need to just be _enough_ for him. But I was stupidly in love, too. And I couldn’t separate those two things.” 

Darkness shadows across Ben’s face slowly, creeping in as his eyes grow dull, and he curls into himself again. Callum doesn’t think he’s breathed the entire time Ben’s been talking, all thoughts washed away by the lull of Ben’s voice, the edge to it. Ben opens his mouth again, then snaps it shut, taking in a shuddery breath.

“You can stop,” Callum whispers. _“It’s okay.”_

“Sorry, it’s just,” his eyes are misty again, “it’s hard to talk about, um—”

He lets Ben breathe, lets him gather his thoughts.

“It was December when it happened. My Dad was always doing dodgy deals on the side of his businesses, for as long as I can remember. Some stolen cars here, and a heist or a murder there. That’s who he was. I ain’t who I was, and Paul, God, Paul couldn’t have been against that kinda stuff if he tried.” 

“But my Dad, my stupid fucking Dad had this crazy idea, that Paul could get involved in his next job. _Prove himself a real man, a Mitchell_ , he’d said,” Ben whispers, pulling his lips into his teeth. “And I know now, I know that’s the moment I should’ve taken Paul’s hand and dragged him as far from Walford as physically possible, but I was naive, I thought Dad’s were meant to love you no matter what.” 

His voice grows tight and panicked as he talks, eyes watering. “He went on the job, Paul did. But he never came home.” 

That last part is so quiet, ripped from deep, deep within the corners of Ben’s memories that Callum feels bile rise in his throat. He pulls him into his chest. You were so young, Callum thinks. You were so, _so young._

“Oh, Ben,” Callum murmurs softly, gripping onto him tightly. “I’m so sorry, I’m so—” he soothes him as Ben starts to cry again. His own eyes are misting over, and he presses his forehead into Ben’s shoulder as he continues. 

“It was all my fault, all of it.” 

“Don’t ever say that,” Callum whispers fiercely. Ben’s tears hit his neck steadily.

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” Callum cried angrily, fire pulsing through them. “It’s not fair. You’re so good, you’re so good. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Ben takes in a wet, shuddering breath, and when he releases it, Callum’s heart breaks entirely. “I never even got to say goodbye. The last time I saw him was that night, the night he—”

“Why not?” Callum asks softly, stroking his hair.

“My Dad shipped me off to my Mum days after it happened,” Ben says, bitterly. “And she was brilliant, my Mum, stayed up all night to make sure I didn’t try to run away, to do something stupid, because she knew I would. But I needed to be close to Paul, I needed to say goodbye. Be with Pam and Les.”

“That’s awful,” Callum is filled with so much anger, so much frustration.

“Those first few weeks, I just felt so numb,” Ben says softly. “I hated everything, everyone. I hated my Dad so much I burned with it.”

“I cut myself off completely from everything. I never went to school, never finished my exams. I would lay in bed all day. That’s all I ever did, because it was a distraction. But it didn’t matter what I did, because every time I had a minute to think down, Paul was the only thought in my mind.” 

“After a few months, Pam and Les turned up at our front door, after arranging it with my Mum. God, I was so happy to see them. So happy, but there was always this lingering fear that they’d hate me, blame me for taking away their grandson. They didn’t, of course, they didn’t. Instead, they welcomed me with open arms, and brought me here. _A little break_ , they’d said. Five years later and I’m still here.”

“They sound brilliant,” Callum murmurs. They’re leaning heavily against each other now. Ben’s tears have stopped, and his lips move against Callum’s neck when he talks. It’s almost entirely dark out, the room in a soft hush of deep blue and silver. “I’m so happy you had them looking out for you.” 

“Yeah,” Ben says, wistfully. “I don’t know where I’d be without them. Probably not sat on this floor, sobbing and snotting into a gorgeous man’s neck.” 

“Ben,” Callum’s cheeks are flushed, warmth spreading through his entire body like honey. “I see myself in you, a little. Y’know? I see someone who’s been crushed a thousand times over, but still holds the kindness of the world in their chest.” 

I know,” Ben agrees. “After that day on the plane, and our first night together, I thought about deleting your number, I don’t normally see the same bloke twice. I ain’t ever, since Paul. But I couldn’t leave you alone, because someone like you shouldn’t be lonely. I want to spend every second possible with you.”

“Hey, stop,” Callum whispers. He’s started to tear up again, and in the silver light, Ben’s eyes are reflective, like a mirror. “You’re making me cry. _Again!”_

“I’m just so happy that I found you,” Ben sniffs. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had to be alone again this New Year, after everything that’s happened. And I know things aren’t perfect, the set up is awkward and we’re living on borrowed time, but when I’m with you it's like an endless night. It feels like I’m surrounded by everything bright and brilliant and everlasting. It feels warm. It feels like this is where I’m supposed to be. Where _we’re_ supposed to be.” 

“I feel that way too,” Callum nods desperately, holding Ben’s face in his hands, brushing the tears away. “You make me feel so much. I know I’ve only known you for a week or two, but you’ve changed my life, Ben. You’ve made everything so much better.”

Callum kisses him then, because it’s all he can do. They grasp at each other desperately in the dark, chests heaving.

Callum knows he loves him. He feels it so purely. And it’s not just the fact that Ben is the first person, perhaps the only person Callum has given himself to entirely, the only person he’s ever taken his heart out for and shown every crack and crevice. It’s the way Ben says his name, the way his lips quirk up when he’s embarrassed, the way he’s so expressive with his hand and his voice and the silly, carefree way he gets when it’s just the two of them. It’s the way that he knows exactly when Callum needs him to be gentle with him and when he needs it all. _It’s everything._

“Lie back,” he breathes hoarsely between kisses, guiding Ben gently to the pillow. The air around them is static, their gazes magnetic, made to be drawn to each other. Ben follows Callum’s word effortlessly, eyes soft and warm, reaching for him. 

Callum lowers the two of them syrup slow, keeping their eyes connected. He wants Ben to be comfortable with this. 

He presses one, gentle kiss to the sliver of skin between his pants and his shirt, then looks up in question.

Ben is watching him intently. He gives Callum a small nod, and drops his head back to stare resolutely at the ceiling, swallowing thickly.

Callum slides the tips of his fingers under Ben’s shirt, just feeling his skin, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed because it’s never been like this before. He moves his hands up in tiny increments, and Ben’s back arches just a little when Callum pushes his shirt up and over his head.

There’s a couple of scars there, one Callum didn’t notice the first time around, and all the sudden, he feels much less self-conscious about his own matching one. Callum rubs his thumb over them tentatively, and Ben lets out a choked noise, breathing loudly through his nose.

Callum settles himself down and kisses over the top of it softly. “You’re beautiful.”

“Cal,” Ben whispers. His hands find Callum’s shoulders.

“You’re so strong,” Callum kisses him again, moving down incrementally. He continues, murmuring praise as he moves, _brave, gentle, kind, inspiring, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful._

“You deserve so much love,” Callum says against his skin. “So much happiness.”

Ben’s body tremors under him, and then his long fingers are pressing under Callum’s jaw, pulling him _up, up, up_ to his waiting lips. It’s unhurried and delicate, butterfly wings flutter in Callum’s belly, taking a hold of his heart too. 

“Is it too soon to say that I love you?”

Every single nerve ending in Callum’s body lights up, blood pulsing through him in a mad rush, a mad scramble, to process the sudden bang in front of his vision, like fireworks. He shakes his head vigorously and kisses Ben hard, his hands too tight, their noses bumping.

“No,” he breathes, and he feels like he’s about to cry again. “No, it ain’t.” 

“I think I do,” Ben says. “I think I love you.”

“I love you too,” Callum chokes out. “Ben, I know—I know I love you.” 

They kiss messily, so fast, too fast, tongue and teeth and thudding hearts.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**four days left:**

A couple of days later, after another brutal ski lesson, Ben tugs Callum back with a firm hand on his coat, a cheeky smile on his lips. 

He drives them directly west, where the snow breaks up a little and the houses become few and far between. The steady sound of the engine and Ben’s voice nearly lulls Cally. to sleep as he looks out the window, almost pressing his nose against the glass like a child would do. Ben’s eyes are soft over him. 

They arrive at their destination just before lunch, a tiny town of less than five hundred people that’s nestled among the mountains and sits in the mouth of a gushing river. Ben holds his hand as they start down the path towards it all, the pathway beneath their feet slippery and slick with frost. 

Ben leads them down to the row of houses closest to the water, paint peeled and weather-beaten, the windows prickled with frost in the corners. He offers no explanation as he knocks on the door of a little yellow house, shoulders tucked in and his feet already scraping against the welcome mat.

A small woman opens the door, pale skin lined with deep rivets along her forehead, eyes and mouth, speckled with sunspots and freckles and age. Her hair is almost white, eyes tiny jewels of hazel set under golden lashes. Her face lights up when she spots them, a warm smile that fills Callum with a warmth he hasn’t felt for years. She pulls Ben into a tight hug and starts to speak, Callum watches the exchange in fascination as Ben greets her, soft and so gentle.

“I’ve missed you, love,” she coos at him, eyes almost closed with her smile, Ben’s cheek cupped in her cracked palm.

"I’ve missed you too, Pam,” Ben smiles, then a little teasing. “Hope you ain’t been too lonely without me?”

Pam throws her head back in laughter, patting Ben’s cheek with an amused shake of her head. “I do have a life, you know. I’m not as old as you think!” 

“Sorry, _boss_.” 

“How have you been keeping yourself?” Pam asks. “Everything okay back at home?”

“All good,” Ben says. “It was nice to see Mum again, you know I miss her more than I’d ever admit.”

“And you’re happy to be back, I hope?” 

“Yeah,” Ben nods brightly, eying Callum. “I am, as it happens.” 

“Oh, Pam, this is Callum,” Ben slots his arm around Callum’s waist to bring him forward, one palm resting over his chest. “It’s his first time in Morzine.”

Pam’s eyes brighten once more, and with a tiny wriggle of her shoulders, she darts forward to hug him. Callum blinks a little in surprise, but bends down to greet her. Ben smiles at him over her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend!” she says to Ben as she pulls away. “Ben Mitchell, I am ashamed of you!” 

Callum’s cheeks warm, eyes wide, just like Ben’s “We’re not, um—Callum’s just visiting, Pam. He’s flying back home in a few days.” 

Pam scoffs and tugs Callum’s head beside hers with gentle palms, so that he’s bent over awkwardly with his head almost resting on her shoulder. He spots Ben’s amused grin out the corner of his eyes.

“Oh that’s a shame,” she says, lips pursed at Ben. “He’s gorgeous.”

“ _Pam_ ,” Ben groans, shoulders slumping forward.

“Just an observation!” She raises her hands, all innocent. 

“Right, tea!” Ben claps his hands together abruptly, pulling Callum from Pam’s grasp. “Let’s have some tea. I’ll put the kettle on, c’mon.”

Ben drags him inside, Pam snickering behind them and muttering under her breath. Inside, it’s toasty warm and charming, old picture frames hung on the walls and leant against the mantle of the fire, mismatched and dusty around the edges. It’s a tiny space, the kitchen tucked into the corner in rusted white and the couch pressed against the wall by the window. But it’s homely, more than Callum’s ever felt before. 

“And you’re still enjoying your monthly dance clubs, I assume?” 

“Of course, Pam,” Ben smiles. “Although I think I may have upset Dooren last time. They warned me she was a ladies man, I just didn’t think they meant she was gonna go proposing!” 

Pam lets out a fond chuckle. “My, my, whatever will I do with you? Callum must really be a good one if he’s willing to spend his last few days here with you.”

Callum smiles softly. “It ain’t too much of a hardship.” 

Pam steals Callum back from Ben when he moves to make tea, plopping him on the creaky couch with a kind smile, humming under her breath happily as she watches them. 

“Oh Ben, he’s so lovely,” she coos quietly, Ben makes an odd noise from the other side of the room. “If you don’t snap him up soon, someone else surely will.” 

“Pam!” Ben crosses his arms over his chest, but there’s an amused sparkle in his eyes as he shakes his head fondly. “It’s, _complicated_.” 

“It always is with you, dear.” 

He’s hung his coat over the back of one of the dining chairs, so now he’s only in a thick maroon sweater. He looks so lovely. 

“Here, Cal,” he sips from his own cup as Callum takes his, the old china warm in his palms.

“Thanks, babe,” Callum smiles. Pam has paused her tidying to observe them, eyes giddy. When Ben sends her a look, she winks and resumes with her task.

“Sorry if this is odd,” Ben nudges Callum’s shoulder, and leans further into his side, plush against each other. “I just, I thought it’d be nice for you to meet her. She’s the reason I’m here, after all.” 

“No, it’s sweet,” Callum murmurs. “I’m really happy you’ve brought me, honest.” 

“Hm,” Ben blows on his tea gently. “Her husband, Les, he’s great but he works long hours operating the main ski lifts. So I stay here with her sometimes, try to visit her a couple of times a month, especially around the holidays. But she’s tougher than she looks. Tougher than me, for sure.” 

“Oh, bless her,” Callum’s heart thumps in sympathy. “That’s really nice of you, Ben. She seems like a wonderful lady.”

“It’s nothing,” Ben snuggles deeper into Callum’s side. “I like being here. It makes me feel closer to Paul, somehow.”

They settle into silence, comfortable and warm. There’s a thickness in Callum’s throat that he can’t place. Maybe it’s because this is such a private little slice of Ben’s life, something so quiet and delicate that he’s brought Callum into. 

“Thank you for bringing me.” 

“It’s alright, babe,” Ben presses a kiss to his temple. Callum can feel his cheeks flushing. “We better get going, anyway, if we want to get back before the sun starts to go down.”

Callum turns to Pam shyly. “Um, thank you for having me. You have a lovely home.”

Before they leave, she pulls Callum in close and whispers in his ear, _look after him,_ then pats his cheek fondly with a wink.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**two days left:**

The snow gets heavier that night, impossibly so, and it looks like it’s going to stay that way.

They’re stuck inside until it clears, they play Scrabble and watch films and lay in the hot tub for hours, talking and kissing and fucking and napping, settling into each other and savour this time.

Callum is almost grateful for the snow. He doesn’t want to leave Ben’s side.

Whenever the thought of packing up and going home enters his mind, he tries to push it away as quickly as possible, replaces it with the snow and Morzine and _Ben._ It sends a spike of panic through his chest, and he’ll burrow further into side wordlessly. He doesn’t have to say anything because Ben knows.

Callum is scheduled to fly home on Friday morning. It’s currently Wednesday.

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s almost scared to go back home, back to the bustle and the thick, polluted air of London. Back to his lonely four walls and the same unimpressed faces every day. 

More than anything, he doesn’t want Morzine to be just a distant memory.

“Hey,” Ben lifts his head from where he’s sucking a mark on Callum’s collarbone, lips shiny in the silver light. “You okay, babe? You disappeared for a while there.”

Callum blinks his gaze away from the ceiling and rubs his frozen palms over Ben’s back, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. Just lost my head for a second.”

Ben doesn’t look convinced, and he pulls back a little when Callum leans up to kiss him, but a hand to his chest stops him in motion. “Go on, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Callum bumps their mouths together, thumbs massaging the dimples at the bottom of Ben’s spine.

“It ain't nothing,” Ben frowns, pulling away again. “Cal, you know you can tell me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Callum says, but his voice comes out thick and wrong and Ben’s eyes soften, fingers caressing Callum’s neck and jaw.

“You don’t have to,” Ben whispers, and he smiles sadly. “I already know.”

Callum nods again, swallowing as he wraps his arms around Ben’s waist completely, tugging him close. The blankets are tucked around their shoulders, and Ben snuggles into Callum’s neck, lets his mouth rest there as they lie together, just breathing. Callum’s throat feels tight, his eyes burning and threatening to grow wet. He doesn’t want to cry. _He won’t._

It’s so silent, the town fast asleep. Only the gentle pitter-patter of snow on the roof accompanies their slow breathing now. Callum closes his eyes and tries to memorise the feel of Ben’s body entirely, all the places their joints meet, where warm skin touches. It hurts to breathe, almost.

“I told myself I wouldn’t say this, for both our sakes,” Ben says softly. “But, God—I don’t want you to go.”

Callum lets out a broken sound and kisses Ben’s head, holds him tighter. “Please Ben, _don’t_.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispers, and it’s almost a hiss, how quickly it tumbles out of his mouth, tight and strained. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to leave _me._ ”

“I have to,” Callum says miserably. “You know I have to.”

“I know,” Ben’s fingers dig into his ribs. “I know you have a life back in London. And I may be selfish, but I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave that all behind for me. But I still don’t want you to go. It’s all I can think about, you not being here. Who am I supposed to share my Prosecco with in the hot tub?”

Callum lets out a wet laugh, wobbly and broken. “I’m sure there’s plenty of lads queuing up.”

“Maybe,” Ben smiles against his skin. “None of them are you, though.”

Callum closes his eyes so they don’t spill over. “No one could ever come close to you, Cal. _No one_.”

That sends Callum’s heart shaking, sends pinpricks of heat and pain spreading through his chest and down his stomach. Because he can’t remember the last time he thought that true, that somebody could think so much of him. He feels like he’s never truly been himself, because he’s always had to shy away from it. But here, _he’s Callum_ , he’s got his heart on his sleeve and his eyes wide open, and Ben has taken him with open arms.

“I don’t want to go back to London,” he whispers. “I like it here. I like the gentleness of the town, the quiet and how simple it all is. I like riding the ski lifts and pretending I know how to ski, watching you doing it all effortlessly. I like the sun setting behind the mountains and drinking too many brightly-coloured cocktails and I like the people and friendly faces and Pam. _And you._ None of that is in London. _You’re_ not in London.”

He’s aware of how thick his voice is, how hot and misty his eyes have become. Ben is a feather on his chest, but there’s something else pushing its weight down, something else sitting like a huge, blue pressure. 

“You know,” Ben starts, tracing his fingers over Callum’s collarbone, “I’ve been thinking about how when you’re gone, I’m going to be on my own again. And I like it, the quiet and the simplicity. But not as much as I like having you here, not as much as I like waking up with your hair in my mouth and your cold feet on my thighs.”

Callum lets out a tiny patter of laughter, and he gently rolls them onto their sides, so that they’re both nuzzled into each other and the pillows, eye to eye. 

“I’m scared to let you go.”

“Well, _maybe_ , you could come home with me instead?” Callum says, however superfluous a thing to say it may be.

 _“I can’t_ ,” Ben sighs, sighs right against Callum’s parted mouth. “London ain’t my home anymore.”

 _Home can be here. Right here with me, that spot in my chest._ Callum can’t say it, he won’t. He isn’t cruel enough to. 

“Then stop talking and kiss me some more,” he says instead, trying for a smile. Ben blinks down at him, that syrupy grin slowly pulling up at his cheeks, and it’s enough to dissipate the knot of sadness that’s trying to grow in Callum’s chest.

“Sure,” Ben says, acting put-on now, drawing a lazy circle against the side of Callum’s hip with light fingers. “I mean, if you _really_ want me to.”

Callum blinks up at him. They stare at each other for a moment, and Callum just lets it rush over him, lets himself go. He tells himself to stop thinking, to stop worrying, to put himself in the here and now; not tomorrow, when they’ll only have twenty-four hours left, not Friday, when they have to say goodbye, when he knows he’ll cry at the airport and all the way home, when he’ll miss Ben so much it’ll make his teeth ache.

Right now he’s got to let himself be happy. Ben’s mouth twitches against his own, and Callum knows that he’s happy, too.

They have two days left.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**one day left :**

“Cal, babe. Wake up.”

“ _No_ ,” Callum mumbles into the pillow. “It’s like—the middle of the night!.”

“First of all, stop being so dramatic, it’s six-thirty,” Ben’s fingers card through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Second of all, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Callum peeks one eye open. Ben’s hand is a warm weight on his back, and he leans over him with a soft smile. “Surprise?”

“Mhm,” Ben gives him a chaste, dry kiss, smug smile playing on his lips. “You’ve got to get up, though.”

“What is it?” Callum rubs a hand over his face, groaning slightly as he stretches.

“Come on,” Ben smiles softly down at him, tugging at his hands. “We have to be quick. I usually leave earlier than this.”

The crease in Callum’s forehead is puzzled, but when Ben presses a kiss, it dissipates to a feeling of anticipation.

They walk through the village with their hands clasped and their breaths swirling together, quiet laughter floating up into the fresh air. It’s a lovely morning, the sun is just beginning to rise over them, bright and sharp. 

“Where are we going?” Callum questions. Ben gives him a look that tells Callum to _shut up._

As they near the edge of the mountains, Callum can hear the unmistakable sounds of the ski lifts starting up, creaking in the distance, he can see layer of fresh snow, free from tracks. 

Next to the ski lift is a tiny, rickety shed. Callum’s never noticed it before, always too busy trying to divert through the hustle and bustle of the mountains, but this early in the morning, they’re deserted. A tiny bell chimes as they enter, and the old man behind the desk perks his head up. It seems a common thing that anyone who sees Ben brightens immediately. 

“Ben!” he hurries from behind the desk to lift him up into a hug. “I’ve missed you, mate. How's life?”

“Incredibly busy, you know me, a man in demand,” Ben says, and the man rolls his large eyes and flicks him lightly on the ear. “It’s good to see you, Les.” 

Les notices Callum’s presence then, and he sends them both a beaming grin, before he pulls Ben into his side. “This must be the lovely young man Pam told me all about.”

“That’s me,” Callum holds out his hand, but Les scoffs at it and draws him into a rib-crushing hug instead. “Callum.” 

“So nice to meet you, Callum,” Les says. “I hear you’ve been keeping Ben out of trouble for a while.”

“Well, I’ve tried, but it’s a tricky job,” Callum squeaks. Ben muffles his laughter, and throws Callum a rude gesture over Les’ shoulder.

“Cheers for sorting this for us, Les,” Ben says. 

“No worries lad, everything set up there for you,” Les explains, remaining coy. “Now you two have a nice morning, just don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” 

“Is this the part where you take me to the most isolated part of the mountains to kill me?” Callum asks as he hauls himself up into the seat.

“Obviously,” Ben says casually as he squeezes in beside Callum. 

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Callum says. Ben grins and pokes a finger into his side.

The higher they travel, the thicker the snowfalls. They’re cast in half-light, hidden by mountains. It’s so, unbelievably gorgeous. 

When they break through the cover of the mountains the land opens up like a wintery canyon, dipping and stretching for miles, ice and snow and the rivers below. 

It’s then that Callum realises they’re heading for the Black slope. “No, no, no,” he protests. “You are not, under any circumstances, having me break my leg on the last day!”

“Oh,” Ben says with put-on disappointment. “Well, that’s ruined my plans, then.” 

“What _have_ you dragged me up here for, then?” Callum sighs, but his words are gentle, and he’s reaching for Ben’s hand as they jump down from the lift on shaky feet.

As they reach the peak, the first rays of sun are climbing _up-up-up_ over the mountain tops. All breath rushes out of Callum’s chest.

“Oh,” he inhales sharply, eyes growing wet. “Oh, wow. Ben, it’s beautiful.” 

“I know.”

Five meters in front of them is a small, rickety bench packed high with blankets and hot water bottles and flasks of something steaming warm, more food than Callum’s ever seen, and something suspiciously _bubbly_ looking. Callum’s stomach flutters with anticipation as he watches the sunlight half of Ben’s face. 

“Is this—” Callum starts, but the words get caught thick in his throat. “Have you done this all for me?” 

“Yeah,” Ben confirms, eyes shy. It’s so far from the sarky comment Callum was expecting. “It’s so peaceful up here, I try to come up once a week, if the weather allows it. It‘s probably my favourite spot in the entire world, and I want to share it with you.”

“Ben,” Callum breathes, chest heavy as Ben lights the make-shift fire. “I don’t know what to say, just—just, thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta say anything, just—come ‘ere.” 

As the sun dips they sit on the frost bench and eat everything in sight, the fire crackling in front of them gently. The sky is bright blue now, fuzzy around the edges, but still, it has nothing on the pools of Ben’s eyes.

They watch the gradient of colour with their shoulders leant together, whispering back and forth and rubbing their thumbs over each other’s hands. Callum’s mind is quiet, in a little bubble away from the world, but his heart; his heart is running wild. 

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Callum says up to the sky. 

_We. Us. You and me. Forever._

“Nothing lasts forever,” Ben counters, as a sudden, spark of sadness flashes his eyes. 

“Love does.”

Ben blinks up at him, his cheeks flushed, whether from Callum’s words are the warning sun that’s reaching for him, still. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it does.” 

_It does. I know it does. I’ll love you forever._

Callum doesn’t say anything else, he can’t. He just smiles down at Ben softly and dips his head close to kiss him, murmurs _my forever love_ , against his lips.

Callum isn’t sure how long they sit there for, how long he cranes his neck up and keeps his eyes wide open, unblinking and shiny. He wants to sit here forever, wants to stay frozen in this moment with Ben beside him, just the endless spread of the ice and the stars. But then Ben rests his head on his shoulder, gentle, and Callum pulls his eyes away to watch him.

Because he’s just as beautiful as what’s around them.

Finally, he lifts his eyes back to Ben’s, gentle and warm with something behind them, a quiet intent that Callum can’t read entirely. Ben leans in slowly, slips his eyes closed and rests his forehead against Callum’s, and breathes. A buzzing warmth runs through Callum, oozes from his heart into his limbs. He presses close, slips his eyes closed so it’s just darkness, the snowfall and Ben’s breathing. 

It’s just one little moment among many, just a press of their foreheads together. But it still makes Callum’s body sag, still makes him full to the brim with _love_.

“I’m trying to find the words to thank you for this,” Callum has to say then, if he doesn’t get the words out now, maybe he never will. His throat grows right, eyes burning with unshed tears. “This moment, this experience, this love—but I can’t—I can’t even—”

Ben cuts him off with a firm press of his lips, two single tears running parallel down his cheeks. Their lips are wet and salty-tang, their hands vice grips on each other. 

“You’re my light,” Callum gasps into Ben’s mouth, pressing their foreheads together.

“And you’re mine,” Ben sniffs. He brings his hands up to stroke at Callum’s cheeks, to brush the wetness away.

They kiss again, because they can, because if they don’t they might explode.

Later, when the sun’s finished its day, descending below the mountains, and they’re tucked up in bed, it’s all goosebumps and hot breaths, hands clinging on to any skin they find and desperate moans. It’s wet mouths and teasing fingertips, tongues and teeth and lips, eyes wide open and honest, misty and full. It’s the rustle of Ben’s duvet dragging against the floor of the tent, skin on skin, broken whimpers and hushed words.

They cling to each other, press as close as they can.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Ben whispers into his ear, legs tight around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders. His teeth scrape along Callum’s jaw as he speaks, and it’s so strained and soft, accompanied by a hitch of breath as Callum presses deeper. “Promise you’ll come back to me in the summer.”

“I promise, Ben,” Callum says, fervent and slurred with his eyes shut tight. “I promise I will.”

“I’ll take you across to Annecy,” Ben gasps and tugs hard at Callum’s hair, fingers so tight that it feels like his scalp might be on fire. “I want to see you by the water. You’d look so pretty with the reflecting sun behind you.”

" _Ben_ ,” Callum whines, broken and choked off. He presses his forehead against Ben’s neck and snaps his hips. Ben’s nails scramble over his back.

“We could spend days down by the beach,” Ben exhales hot and wet against his cheek. “Walking in hand in hand; only stopping to skim pebbles or write out names in the sand.” 

Callum’s chest is burning, throat so tight that every breath feels ragged and strained. It’s pitch black, but when he moves to press their lips together, he can see the shine in Ben’s eyes, the thin film of tears that have settled over them like the lakes on the glacier. 

Their words slowly die on their tongues as they draw closer to the edge. He can feel Ben’s thighs quivering around his waist, the way his hands won’t stop running over every part of Callum’s body. And then, with one shift of Callum’s hips, and a gasp from Ben, their eyes lock in something magnetic, a click that echoes through Callum’s entire body.

_I love you._

Callum doesn’t want sleep to take him. He brushes his fingers through Ben’s soft hair, watches the soft sweep of his lashes as he blinks at him. They don’t talk, but they don’t have to. It scares him, how quickly he’s become attached, how quickly he’s fallen. It feels like someone has hit him with a bag of bricks, and now he’s woozy and shaken and it feels like everything is rushing around him, like he’s tipped over the edge and the only way to stop is to hit the ground.

And the thing is, he doesn’t even mind. Because Ben is there beside him.

_I love you too._

Eventually, Ben’s mouth goes slack against Callum’s chest, his fingers uncurling and his breathing soft. Callum just holds him as he drifts into sleep, kisses his forehead and cards his fingers through his hair, draws shapes on the small of his back. He lies awake until the first sparks of dawn start to creep over the sides of the tent, the darkness replaced by deep amber hues and a yellow glow.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**six hours left**

His eyes are crusty and sore as he wakes, and he blinks them slowly. Ben is murmuring against his neck, random little sounds that vibrate gently on his skin. His eyelashes flutter in his sleep, ticking Callum’s neck. Callum cares for him so much. He doesn’t want to let him out of his arms.

But eventually, he has to. Eventually, Ben wakes up with a tiny yawn and curls further around Callum’s body. They lie in silence for a while, just touching each other’s skin, revelling in the warmth of it. And then Ben kisses him, so delicate and shaky. Callum lets his fingers trace the slopes of his face, draws in a stuttered breath when Ben rests their forehead together and bumps their noses.

“We should start packing your stuff up,” he says quietly, eyes downcast.

Callum swallows slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

Ben pulls his lips into his mouth, and Callum can feel his stomach shaking against his. “Okay.”

“Hey, hey,” Callum says, hushed and gentle as he cups Ben’s cheeks, dips his head to catch his gaze. “It’s alright. We’ll—we’re gonna see each other, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Ben says, barely a sound. Then, he takes in a thick breath. “I really hope so.”

Callum brings their lips together. “Me too. More than anything.” 

Ben’s eyes brighten, a tiny smile curling on his lips. “Mon éternel amour.”

“I like the sound of that,” Callum hums. _Forever._

Later, once Callum’s reluctantly cleared all his bits and pieces lying around the Chalet, Ben drives him to Genever airport. Callum tucks himself into the door on the way, arms crossed over his churning stomach as he gazes out, watching the snow melt away, mile by mile. Ben hums along softly to the music playing, and Callum lets his eyes slip closed here and there, feels it wash over him and lull him into a light doze. It’s calming for an instant, but when he wakes, the airport in sight. 

The rest of the lads are waiting for him there, their bags bulging by their sides. He’s lucky he has friends like Chris, Leon and Cameron; they won’t hold a grudge against Callum for disappearing all holiday, not when they can clearly say how happy he’s been out here. 

After greeting them, he turns back to Ben, who’s watching him with a fond quirk of his lips, arms already open and waiting.

Callum lifts him off the ground when he hugs him, spins him around and cuddles him close, peppers kisses over his face to make him laugh and swat at him gently. When he lets his feet touch the ground again, Ben folds their lips together and tucks a stray piece of hair from Callum’s forehead. Behind them, the sun spills over the tops of the snow-capped hills and turns the world bronze and white.

“Please don’t cry,” Ben says, cupping his cheeks and wiping the tears before they can make silver tracks. “Please, I can’t watch you cry.”

“It’s alright,” Callum laughs wetly, presses into the pretty, soft skin of Ben’s neck, hides there, sighs slowly when Ben’s fingers bunch in the back of his jacket. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says firmly, eyes trusting and wide. 

Callum smiles, and he feels the aching in his chest float away a little, replaced by a fuzzy, pleasant hope.

“I’ll see you soon, mon éternel amour.”

 _My forever love_. 

**Author's Note:**

> have a wondeful day tomorrow everyone <33 love to you all. stay safe xxx 
> 
> (@dingletragedy on tumblr / twitter)


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